


the rose and the sea

by tarkus



Category: VIXX
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Hakyeon is a poet, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Taekwoon is a singer, sweet & small
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarkus/pseuds/tarkus
Summary: It starts as any love story does: a glimpse of a smile, an increased heartbeat, the sound of a laugh, a beautiful face. But it also starts with a song and a voice. Or, if you look further, it starts with a poetic heart, an emotional soul. And, if you look closely, if you inspect every little part of it, every corner, every turn,  it all starts with the sea.





	the rose and the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BluePepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePepper/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift to my honeylove, my sweetheart Nini. I hope you enjoy this, even though it's a little bit messy and way too sappy, I hope it makes you smile ♡

It starts as any love story does: a glimpse of a smile, an increased heartbeat, the sound of a laugh, a beautiful face. But it also starts with a song and a voice. Or, if you look further, it starts with a poetic heart, an emotional soul. And, if you look closely, if you inspect every little part of it, every corner, every turn,  it all starts with the sea.

❧

Hakyeon never denied the fact that he was a sensible man, he liked to  _ feel _ , he loved to love, he enjoyed every little sensation the world could bring to him. So, being the smart man that he was, he also made a career from that.

To write about all the emotions that passed through his heart and soul was as easy as breathing, and even though the money was not that good, and even though rejection and critics were a daily part of his life, Hakyeon found comfort in writing the sappy, love stories that always made an appearance on the city’s newspaper. Every Sunday there was a column for Hakyeon and Hakyeon only, and he would explore it to the best.

Sometimes it was little poems about the sea, about his impressions of the big deep blue; some other times, Hakyeon would write about long-lost loves. Most of the times Hakyeon would write about all the love stories he would make up on his mind while walking through the beach, through the cafes and even through the police station (but that was once, just once, when he went to complain about his nosy neighbor only to find out the police officer was his wife, perks of small cities, it seems).

That was Hakyeon’s life: walk, feel the sand on his toes, send a kiss to the sea, watch people, write.

He also liked the idea of suffering from not having a significant other, he found some kind of comfort in that, and someway, that sweet melancholy made way into his writing, making it all more poetic, dreamy.

“It’s profitable.” His editor said one day, “The housewives love it, the teenage girls swoon over it. It’s good for the newspaper.”

But was it enough?

Hakyeon had his doubts, however, as much as he wanted to change or as much as he wanted to write some thriller or mystery… it wouldn’t happen. 

Maybe that’s why, as soon as a new bar opened in town, all dark wood and candles, Hakyeon was one of the first loyal customers.

It was the atmosphere, together with the enthusiasm and cheerfulness of the owner, that bought Hakyeon. He lied to himself that he liked how the place seemed like something out from the 20s, all smoke and secrets; he even lied to his editor, saying that he was trying to write his big novel and that’s why he would spend so much time in this new bar.

Well.

Every story has its sides, and Hakyeon wasn’t exactly  _ lying _ .

He was writing, yes.

It wasn’t a novel, oh no.

It was still sappy as hell.

But, in his defense, it was all fault of e certain… singer.

And his rosy cheeks and velvet voice.

❧

The first time Hakyeon heard it, he was too preoccupied with how the wax from the candle in front of him was dripping down and staining the beautiful wooden table. He was too absorbed in the task of thinking on calling for a waitress to clean up the mess to even pay attention to what started to happen in front of him. He didn’t spare a second glance to the man who walked towards the small center stage. Especially because it was a Thursday night, and Thursday nights were, as Jaehwan always liked to state:  _ the night for the rookie singers _ . So yeah, Hakyeon didn’t pay attention when the man got up there, held the mic very close to his face -  _ as if hiding _ \- and opened his mouth to start whatever it was that he would start.

In his state, Hakyeon didn’t even process the beginning of the song; it was only by the flicker of the candle and a high note being reverberated throughout the room that he looked ahead, more out of curiosity than anything.

But the sight, the voice, and everything in between sent shivers down every fiber of Hakyeon’s body. The person standing there, the man, he was tall and broad, part of his face covered by the mic, and his black hair was a little bit on the long side, a little bit messy for Hakyeon’s tastes. But his voice. Oh, that’s a voice worth writing for.

And that was exactly what he did, he picked up his faithful and very used notebook, opened on a random page, and just… started. The words flowed as easily as the romantic words being sung by the man in front of him.

At that moment, Hakyeon may or may not have started to feel a little bit in love with the man, the singer.

And look, it’s not like he believed in love at first sight or anything, it was just the fact that the singer made him  _ feel _ things. That was exactly what he told himself when he grabbed one of the roses that were placed by the front door, and that was what he kept thinking when he ran to Jaehwan’s office, the rose in his hands, and told him in a rushed voice: “Please give it to that singer.”

Jaehwan, as expected, only laughed uncontrollably, amused and surprised. However, as a good friend, he didn’t question further.

On that night, Hakyeon went home with a heart full of crashing waves and a mind embraced in velvet red petals.

❧

Soon enough, it became some sort of routine for Hakyeon: every time the beautiful singer got up on stage, he would write and write, about all the beautiful things that would come to his mind, and then, after the night had already faded away, he would pick one of the roses that were always placed neatly on a pretty big vase by the entrance door, and he would proceed to ask for the staff members to leave it for the singer.

Was he embarrassed by it? Yes, sure. Did he feel regret? Not in the slightest.

And it also became some sort of ritual, even. Something that Jaehwan would mock him endlessly, telling him that it was useless to leave flowers for someone without even leaving a note, or a clue. Or anything, really.

But here’s the thing: Hakyeon, as much as he was an expansive, extroverted kind of man, he was also… bashful when it came to matters of the heart.

And the singer, the beautiful singer, had become his muse in the meantime, and Hakyeon didn’t want to break that illusion just yet.

Thus, time passed just like that. The harsh heats of summer gave away to the fallen leaves and chill breezes, which lead to the greyness of the skies and gloves on his hands.

And wasn’t it just fitting? To have his tiny bubble of inspiration break right on the freezing winter?

It happened on a day where nothing seemed to work on his favor. It was just lots and lots of those tiny things, you know? An outfit that didn’t work, a coffee that had gone cold, a missing call, a little stumble on the sidewalk. But when you put all of those things on top of each other, they become a big messy thing of emotions and frustration.

Plus, it was cold and raining, everything seemed wet and uncomfortable in so many levels Hakyeon almost gave up on leaving the house altogether. Almost. Because he wanted to see his singer, and he wanted to see if he could muster some sort of energy to write  _ anything at all _ .

It was a tough week for inspirational purposes, yes. And his editor was going crazy with the lack of a story to feature on the Sunday news.

So, Hakyeon went to the only safe place he had to try and run away from all those things.

The bar, the singer and the roses.

Everything was going extremely mild. The bar was quite empty, his faithful notebook was open, he had ordered a gin and tonic just because. And soon, soon the singer would sing.

Everything went great, actually. In terms of entertainment, the night was good. The singer got up on stage, sang all his lovely songs. Hakyeon drank and stared at the blank page and, almost mechanically, took one of the always immaculate roses and gave it to Jaehwan so he could do his job.

But here’s the thing: it  _ was _ a bad day, and Hakyeon should have known better.

As he left the bar, trying to work on opening his umbrella that seemed to be stuck, being drenched by the sheer force of the wind, he saw something in the corner of his eyes. The man, the singer, was also taking his leave, and he was holding the rose on his hands.

For a second, Hakyeon’s blood ran dry, he felt cold and euphoric all at once, and he felt a blush spreading all over his face, he almost – almost – opened his mouth to say something, to wish a good night, to praise the beautiful voice.

But he didn’t, and maybe that would’ve changed things in the long run.

The wind picked up, the singer walked through Hakyeon without sparing him a second glance and, as if the rose was nothing, he threw it on the ground, leaving the beautiful flower behind and walking away right through the rain.

Hakyeon blinked and watched, for several minutes, as the figure of the singer – now totally soaked –  walked away from his vision. And then Hakyeon stared at the fragile flower left behind.

Damned be his emotional heart and poetic soul, but wasn’t that just a good metaphor for himself?

On that night, Hakyeon swore he wouldn’t live in dreamland anymore. He also wouldn’t frequent that bar too much. He would be alright.

And, despite everything he promised himself not to, on that night Hakyeon wrote one of his most melancholic short stories he had ever written.

Funny enough, that story made it to the Sunday newspaper and it was, in his editor’s words,  _ a total hit _ .

☙

Taekwoon never denied the fact that he had a problem with showing his feelings. It was on his nature, an impossible task to change. That didn’t mean he was cold or that he was incapable of  _ love _ , no, quite the contrary. Taekwoon loved many things. He loved the pink shade of the skies when the sun set on the horizon, and he loved the sound of the crashing waves on the shore, he loved music and he loved the birds, he also loved the people around him and even the red bricks of the buildings.

He liked to think that he conveyed all of his emotions on his songs. To sing and to compose, those were better ways of expressing feelings. And even though he usually did love songs, pretty romantic sappy songs, Taekwoon wasn’t that  _ found _ of that. Because… romantic love wasn’t his kind of thing.

It could be the fault of too many heartbreaks at an early age, or it could be the fault of nothing at all. It was just the way he was.

And Taekwoon was fine with that, really, he was doing great; and even though most of his songs talked about romantic love, well, he always pretended it was about other kinds of love and it was  _ fine _ .

But, maybe that’s the reason he got so many conflicted feelings when, one day, after one of his gigs at this new bar the friend of a friend managed to get him in, he found one single rose on top of his belongings. At first, he thought it was a little gift from the bar’s owner, but then… the flowers kept appearing and it started to make him slightly uncomfortable.

What did that mean? Who would do that? Where would he put those flowers? They would die anyway, right?

Even after Jaehwan came, grinning like a maniac, telling him he had a secret admirer, Taekwoon couldn’t grasp the reasons for it.

And so, he kept throwing away the roses.

He wasn’t interested, he didn’t  _ want _ a secret admirer. On his mind, it was simple: if someone liked him, in any way, why wouldn’t they talk to him? Who would use such archaic ways to get his attention?

No one at the bar would tell him, so he just kept getting more and more frustrated.

Until, one day, the roses stopped to be delivered.

And the lack of the red petals, now something he was so used to see, made his mind stir and made his hands start to itch with the want to compose.

Taekwoon didn’t believe in romantic love, oh no.

But he did believe in endings, and in sorrow.

So, on that very first night, rose-less and cold, he began to write.

❧

As a writer and a dreamer, Hakyeon knew that life had strange ways to bring back the things he would like to leave behind. Destiny, karma, or even just a coincidence. Whatever it was, it happened.

He was sitting on one of his favorite spots at the beach, near the rocks and the crashing waves. The whole view was grey and he could see the dark clouds of rain starting to approach fast. But it was his favorite spot, and the smell of the sea and salt and the cry of the seagulls made him want to stay a little bit more. As usual, he was writing, or trying to.

It has been weeks since he wrote a piece that talked about love. Nowadays he preferred to stay with the common, quite funny, occurrences of life.

(But when night came, with the crippling cold of winter, Hakyeon would open his  _ other _ notebook, the one reserved for his most inner secrets, and he would write poems about love, little broken things that didn’t make sense when morning came again.)

The blank page mocked him, the wind made his red scarf blow all over his face, and all in all, that was his clue to take his leave.

But life, it is funny.

And strange.

And maybe a little bit beautiful.

Hakyeon was so enraptured by the blankness of the page –  _ of his mind _ – that he failed to notice someone approaching. It wasn’t unusual for people to go to the beach in winter but. But it was cold and the chances of rain were increasing at each minute. So he only really looked at the person when said person was already in front of him, panting and wearing sports clothes. A runner, it seemed.

He prayed for the person to just keep running, to go on their way and not spare Hakyeon a second glance.

However, the runner stopped and actually  _ looked  _ at Hakyeon, eyes widening.

Oh.

Hakyeon himself felt something like a shock throughout his whole body.

The runner was the singer; and the singer was the runner, there couldn’t be any doubt when the man in front of him had the same features, same sharp eyes, same soft lips, broad shoulders, and black hair.

Oh no.

The singer-runner-man approached Hakyeon with careful steps, and look, if Hakyeon’s heart started to beat faster, it wasn’t  _ his  _ fault.

However, as much as Hakyeon’s mind was going haywire with all the possibilities of this encounter, the man just stood there, in front of him. Unsettling.

“Huh.” Hakyeon started, because  _ someone _ had to start, “Do you need something?”

The man blinked at him, slowly, and maybe Hakyeon caught him shaking his head just slightly.

“It’s gonna rain soon.”

“I know.” Hakyeon replied, maybe in a little bit rude tone but oh well.

The man pointed at his notebook, “That’s gonna get wet.”

“It’s okay.” He said in a much softer voice.

But if he expected something out of the encounter, nothing really happened. The man only nodded at him and went on his way.

A few minutes later, when Hakyeon was still staring at the spot the man had stood, the rain started to fall, thin and cold, staining the blank page of his notebook with dark spots.

It could be a metaphor for something. The whole meeting with the singer, the rain and the cold. But all in all, it was just a common winter’s day. And that’s what Hakyeon told himself when he arrived home completely soaked and shivering.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, they lived in the same city, same area.

It was bound to happen someday, right?

Here’s the thing: it didn’t happen only on that day.

Hakyeon kept going to his favorite spot at the beach; because it was winter and it was supposed to be empty, because the grey skies and the white sea foam made him restless to write. And.

And maybe because the singer kept appearing in front of him, with his running clothes and sweated body, with his blinking eyes and stares.

Fate or coincidence, it didn’t matter. Soon enough it started to become routine to wave at him and say ‘ _ hello _ ’ or ‘ _ I think it’s going to rain soon _ ’.

It was on a particularly sunny day – when it was uncharacteristically hot for the season and Hakyeon was actually doodling rather than writing – that the singer sat on the sand right beside Hakyeon.

His heart and his whole body stopped for a second before he turned to the other man with a smile.

The wind picked up, making the singer’s hair cover his eyes.

But he was smiling as well.

“What are you writing?” The singer asked.

And oh, wasn’t that a good question as any? The kind of question that Hakyeon didn’t know how to answer?

“I’m drawing today.” He said simply, showing the sketch.

It was a messy thing of clouds and waves, but it seemed to satisfy the man.

“You’re talented.”

_ Not as much as you _ , Hakyeon wanted to say. He only chuckled instead.

It should feel awkward, with the silence settling in, with only the sound of the waves kissing the shore. But it wasn’t.

Hakyeon took a deep breath, feeling, anticipating.

“What’s your name?”

The singer looked at him, confused. For a glimpse of a moment, Hakyeon feared he knew who Hakyeon actually was. The one who pinned after him for so many months, sending  _ roses _ of all things.

But no.

It wasn’t it.

“Taekwoon,” A shy smile, and then, “Jung Taekwoon, and you?”

“Hakyeon.” He stood his hand, feeling the other’s palm brushing on his own, “Cha Hakyeon.”

Another smile, and then: “It’s a pleasure.”

❧

It happened slowly, as the slow growth of flowers on spring, or, as slow as the sweet descending of snow on a winter’s night.

One day Hakyeon was writing about the raising heartbeat of a lover finally finding their one true love, and in the other, he’s writing about rays of sunshine and moon phases, all at once.

Taekwoon was a strange being, coming across Hakyeon on the most peculiar times. And always at the same spot at the beach. Always.

And it was always with the sand and the humidity of the sea that their talks began.

Sometimes they spoke only about the weather, about how cold it was and how the rain made it everything better or worse, depending on the mood of the day. Most of the times it was just senseless talk, with the common “ _ how was your day? _ ” and “ _ how are you feeling? _ ”

Which made Hakyeon learn many things about Taekwoon. He learned that he was still doing shows on Jaehwan’s bar, that he was aspiring to get signed up on some agency, that he composed everything on his own. And Hakyeon also learned how to absolutely  _ love _ the spark on Taekwoon’s eyes every time he talked about music.

On the rarer days that both of them felt a little bit blue, they talked about the universe and the stars. And Hakyeon learned how gentle and lovable Taekwoon’s soul was.

“Aren’t you afraid?” He asked on a particular night, after hours of talking about nothing, when the stars finally appeared on the sky and everything felt a little bit too much for Hakyeon.

“Afraid of what?”

The soft slow voice, the little touch on his shoulders. Hakyeon shivered.

“This.” He said, spreading his arms to the stars, “Life, the world, the universe. It’s all so big. I fear I’m nothing, doing nothing.”

And despite the whole silliness of his words, Taekwoon only scooted closer.

_ Because of the cold, obviously _ .

“Well,” He began, “I think it’s a wonderful thing, the vastness of the universe, the countless stars, especially because we’re part of that. It may sound foolish but we are all made of stardust, or something. I don’t think there’s a big meaning, not at all, but it’s still beautiful.”

“Oh.”

Taekwoon wasn’t wrong, but Hakyeon felt too much, way too much to just accept that kind of explanation. So, he only kept silent, watching the grandness of the skies, until it was too late into the night and goodbyes needed to be said.

Taekwoon had a beautiful soul, and every night after Hakyeon came across of him, his heart would flutter and his cheeks would burn. It was a different kind of sentiment from the nights he had spent watching Taekwoon sing, it was bigger and fresher and so  _ new _ .

Hakyeon was afraid of that too.

☙

It was by sheer coincidence that Taekwoon found the mystery guy on the beach on early winter. He was trying a new route for his daily running and there he was, the guy who caught his attention on Jaehwan’s bar every night.

Taekwoon wasn’t interested in the other man per se, he was just curious.

And when he finally saw him sitting on the beach, so ethereal wrapped up in a red scarf, with a big notebook in front of him, Taekwoon couldn’t help but come closer.

He wanted to ask many things:  _ who was he _ ,  _ what was he doing _ ,  _ why he never came to the bar anymore _ . But damned be his shyness and awkwardness, he could only speak about the weather.

However, as slow as the sea tides, he managed to approach the other man, Hakyeon.

And he learned many things.

Taekwoon learned that Hakyeon was a writer, a poet; and he learned that despite his easy personality, Hakyeon could get very shy at times, especially when they talked about emotional things; Taekwoon also learned that Hakyeon was sensible and smart and so very funny.

Hakyeon was good company, which made Taekwoon glad. And maybe he would feel a burst of excitement every time he met the other man, but he decided to not dwell much on that. It was just affection, admiration.

But everything changed when, on a Sunday morning, when Taekwoon was still drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper, that he found out who Hakyeon truly  _ was _ .

He was baffled by the fact he didn’t notice sooner.

Right there on his favorite column, the one who always portrayed the short stories Taekwoon oh so loved to read, there was a name, a name so familiar it made him laugh out loud.

Hakyeon was a writer, of course, but he had never mentioned he was  _ that _ writer.

And the affection that enveloped Taekwoon on that very moment, it was so big and scary. He decided to take a look at it.

And maybe do something about it, too.

☙

The real epiphany happened on a late winter’s day, cold but sweet. It had rained all day and Taekwoon almost thought he wouldn’t have the chance to go out and see Hakyeon. But alas, the skies clearer on the afternoon and soon he was at the beach. At  _ their _ spot.

Hakyeon was there, bearing a bittersweet face and his notebook, seemingly more like a statue than a man.

Taekwoon sat by his side and instead of initiating any kind of conversation, opted to look at the sea and the setting sun.

He always thought sunsets had some kind of magic, the way the skies got tinted orange and pink, the way the clouds seemed like out of a painting. However, on this sunset in particular, every little corner of the world appeared as painted in gold, including the man beside him.

It felt just like a dream, so, when his voice got muffled by the sound of the waves kissing the shore, and when Hakyeon looked at him expectantly, he could only stare and admire.

Inside there was an urge to write about this moment, to take it and make something beautiful out of it.

He would. Soon, soon.

But first.

“What’s wrong?” He tried.

Hakyeon shook his head, smiling sadly at the sun.

“I’m trying to write a book, my very first one. But it’s hard.” He said, “I don’t think I can.”

“Why?”

Taekwoon couldn’t grasp the lack of confidence coming out of such wonderful man. It didn’t add up, it didn’t make sense.

“Not good enough, I suppose. My stories are boring, too sugary and sappy. Who even wants to read them?”

And oh,  _ that _ statement Taekwoon couldn’t accept.

“Hakyeon.” He started, shuffling with his hands until he decided to just screw it and grab Hakyeon’s hands, “Hakyeon, I’m not a writer, not like you. But if there’s one thing I learned in this world is that, whatever you do, whatever you create, it has meaning.”

Hakyeon took a deep breath, squeezing his hands.

“And even if only one person reads it and enjoys it, I think that’s enough, isn’t it?” Taekwoon continued.

It took several minutes for Hakyeon to answer him, his gold skin shimmering with the sunset lights.

“Maybe you have a point.”

Taekwoon wanted to scream that yes, he had a very fair point, but instead, he just nodded and opted to enjoy the final lights of the day.

If their hands stayed entwined together the whole time, no one needed to know.

❧

Hakyeon knew he was running out of time when spring finally came, with the buzz of the bees and the colorful flowers.

He knew it would happen  _ someday _ but he had hoped that not this soon.

Taekwoon had come to him, speaking excitedly about this new opportunity of being signed up on this agency far away right on a big city full of skyscrapers and  _ life _ .

He was happy, of course he was, Taekwoon deserved everything and more, but. But if he moved away Hakyeon would never get the chance to  _ say _ the things he wanted to say. It’s not like he had a clear picture of his emotions, actually, it was all very fuzzy.

But as hard as it was, he needed to do something.

He got the invitation from the man himself, a quick text message about his final show at the bar. And look, Hakyeon could be many things, especially a coward, but he wouldn’t lose his chance to just…  _ do something _ .

Even if it was foolish and so out of style.

He put all of his feelings in one single paper, writing with his neat handwriting and making sure to sign it beautifully.

If he was going to go all out, well, better to make something he would feel proud later on.

☙

Taekwoon was nervous.

He was nervous for many reasons. The change of life, the last show on the beautiful bar, Hakyeon there. He didn’t know what to make of all his emotions, so he decided to shut them down and just sing like he always had done before.

There was a comfort on doing what he loved for the people he loved.

And love, maybe, wasn’t the answer and wasn’t right, but it was there all the same.

He sang and grinned and laughed, the audience loving every second of it, if the claps and whistles were any indications of that.

But Hakyeon. Hakyeon wasn’t there on the crowd when he finally finished his set. He was nowhere to be seen. And the sharp pain and frustration, maybe, just showed him what life was truly about.

He got out of the stage fast, trying to clear his head by looking at the corridor walls painted all red. Red just like the roses at the entrance, red just like…

When he got inside the makeshift dressing room, trying to ignore the incessant buzz of his phone on his pocket, he finally saw it.

Red, just like the petals of the flower splayed on top of his things.

Red, just like it happened so long ago.

He wasn’t feeling anything at all when he picked up the rose on his hands, studying it for a while, but surely his heart started to beat faster at the moment he saw that there was also a note.

A note, a simple thing with a simple and yet beautiful handwriting.

His eyes scanned the paper quickly, trying to make sense of it.

He did, he understood everything that was written there and so much more. Everything fell into pieces and his heart soared with it.

Taekwoon always thought it was impossible for him to feel this way, but maybe he was just too young or too naïve.

What really mattered though was the last line of the note, the little ps that said: “ _ meet me outside. _ ”

He ran through the corridors, waving at the people he passed by, trying and failing to calm his nerves, and when he finally reached the backdoors, opening it with trembling hands and being hit by the cold gust of wind, he saw him.

Just outside, on a corner near the lamp posts, being bashed by the yellow lights and looking as ethereal and dreamy as ever, Hakyeon stood.

Of course, of course.

It was always him.

❧

Hakyeon waited. It seemed like hours had already passed, but he was pretty sure it has been only a couple of minutes. Still, he waited.

It was an impulsive act, something he didn’t know if he was certain about.

But feelings, and Taekwoon, they all got mixed together in such a twisted way… the only course of action for Hakyeon was to  _ take action _ .

Even if he regretted later on.

The back door banged open and Hakyeon was brought back to the here and now. And there it stood, by the yellow lights of the street lamps, the man he had written so much about. Taekwoon. Taekwoon wearing his black clothes, with his black hair pushed back, with his hands holding the rose and the note, bearing an unreadable expression.

Hakyeon waited.

Just like the sea, he knew he could be either crushed by the waves or be enveloped by the warm calm waters.

Taekwoon approached slowly, his footsteps making tiny sounds that made Hakyeon’s heart beat even faster.

He waited and waited, until they were staring at each other, close, so close it was difficult to breathe.

And then it came.

“You wrote this,” Taekwoon said in his soft voice.

The lights flickered and the wind picked up.

“Yes.”

“It was you, wasn’t it? The one who left roses for me.”

“Yes.”

Hakyeon felt a pang of guilt, of regret. He was a fool, always a fool.

But just like the waves, just like the change of tides, Taekwoon smiled and got even closer.

He was still staring at the black eyes when he felt it. Taekwoon’s lips on his own, his hands on his hair. For a heartbeat, Hakyeon was dreaming, and he let himself enjoy the feeling of being kissed – kissed! – by Taekwoon. He closed his eyes, relishing on the sensation of warm lips.

It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t the best, the angle quite wrong and over too soon.

But it was there all the same.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Taekwoon confessed, their foreheads touching.

“I – ” Hakyeon tried, “I don’t know either. I’m sorry.”

Taekwoon took a step back, still holding him by the waist, “Sorry for what?”

“Everything. The roses, and the poem and.” He took a deep breath, trying to not look at Taekwoon, “You’re going away. It’s selfish of me to put this all on you right at this moment.”

And he knew he was right, Taekwoon was going to make it to the big city, get famous – hopefully. He didn’t need a confusing poet writing senseless things about him.

But Taekwoon only chuckled, caressing Hakyeon’s cheek.

“I’m not going away, silly.”

“Oh?”

“I couldn’t leave the sea even if I wanted to, you know that.” Taekwoon whispered, soft, so soft, “And the agency let me stay. I’m just going there to sign up the contracts.”

Hakyeon blinked, leaning his head on Taekwoon’s hand.

He was such a fool.

“What do we do now?”

Taekwoon held him close, “I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this thing. This love thing.”

“Me neither.” He said, trying to convey all of his feelings and doubts in just those single words.

Because, in the end, Hakyeon was much better with feelings when it came to paper and ink.

The silence downed on them, not actual silence, because there was still the city noises and the ruffling of leaves by the wind.

Hakyeon felt afraid then, felt like he had screwed up. But they had kissed, and Taekwoon was still holding him and –

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“The words you wrote.”

“Oh.”

Hakyeon took his moment to remember what he felt while writing it, and every other time he wrote about Taekwoon. It was a raw, uncharacteristically strong feeling. If it was true or not, he didn’t know how to answer, but it was there all the same.

“It’s just a poem.”

“But is it only that?”

And maybe it was the way they were still holding each other, or maybe how the sky was filled with stars and the smell of the sea was strong there.

Maybe it was nothing at all, or everything, that made Hakyeon answer.

“No, of course not.”

Because it’s never  _ only _ a poem, it’s never  _ only _ a feeling. It’s always something more.

And just like the sea, just like the waves, slow and steady, Hakyeon finally took the courage to look up and kiss the other man, making it short and chaste.

But meaningful.

“We should try it,” Taekwoon said after the kiss, his cheeks tinted pink.

Hakyeon smiled, “Try what?”

“This thing,” He pointed at both of them, “this love thing you like to write about.”

“Of course.” He answered, looking at the skies, being greeted by the stars and the expansiveness of the universe.

Of course, of course.

❧☙

It was only later on, when Hakyeon was sound asleep on his bedroom, that Taekwoon still feeling too euphoric, took the note and read it again.

There was only a poem, small and short. Simple.

It fitted them, somehow.

He read it, again and again, trying to memorize every single word.

It was simple, but, just like the red roses, it was beautiful all the same:

 

_ i wanna _

_ grab your hands, _

_ and kiss _

_ all your knuckles, _

_ while telling you how beautiful you are _

_ and _

_ i wanna look into your eyes, _

_ and sing _

_ even if out of tune _

_ all the songs that you love _

_ and _

_ i wanna take you to the sea _

_ ‘cause i know that’s the place you feel at home _

_ and tell you _

_ how big the world is _

_ and how scary and angry life is _

_ but _

_ even then _

_ even now _

_ the world is beautiful _

_ ‘cause you are you and i am me _

_ and we found each other _

_ and then _

_ i wanna kiss _

_ your eyelids _

_ and _

_ your pink cheeks _

_ and _

_ the corner of your mouth _

_ and only then _

_ i will tell you _

_ how _

_ oh _

_ how much you mean to me _

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> find me @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/tttarkus)


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